


Ding, Dong, the witch is -

by Jay Tryfanstone (tryfanstone)



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Brexit, Gen, Political Campaigns, Political Parties, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7369777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryfanstone/pseuds/Jay%20Tryfanstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wouldn't believe me if I told you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reason for the Referendum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, dramatising and embellishing real life events. Views expressed by fictional representations of real life characters in this story may or may not be their real life viewpoints. Some resemblance to real life events is intended but not guaranteed. Quoted statistics are definitely not guaranteed.  
> I'm hugely grateful to the commenters on the Brexit threads of FFA, who unknowingly provided sources, comment and elucidation, along with some stunningly insightful writing which is not mine and has made it into this story. David Cameron's "Whatever" stands out as an brief example. I'd be glad to credit, please let me know. FWIW, this is my first written comment on the situation.  
> I'm also absolutely sure I've emphasised some factors and situations and minimised others in a way that may be irritating or painful to some readers, and I'm truly sorry if this is the case for you.

"Rule, Britannia!" shouted Nigel Farage, choleric and gouty as any country squire. "In England's white and pleasant land!"  
  
Everyone over sixty knew all the words. "Oh, fuck," said David Cameron, as the richest half of Little England stampeded to the right hand side of the island, dreaming of Nelson and the Charge of the Light Brigade and taking their votes with them. "I tell you what. I'll set up your stupid referendum, I won't bother to set an agenda or require any manifestos, you'll have your piddling little say, and everything will go back to normal. Vote for me," he said, raising winter fuel payments to pensioners (by 2p/year, which he provided by cutting benefits to the disabled, who couldn't get to the polling booth anyway), "The champion of democracy!"  
  
"Haddaway and shite, man," said Sunderland, looking at the empty shipyards and deserted factories.  
  
"Screw you," said Wales, looking at the silent mines and empty fields.  
  
"Nee na, gotcha," David muttered to Boris Johnson as the opinion polls came out.  
  



	2. The Leave Campaign

Gleefully, Boris flicked back his fringe and pulled out his Italian pen, scribbling in his French notebook. Just like rallying the first IV, he dreamed of finally winning the war, striding across the playing fields triumphant, grinding that upstart little prick Cameron into the dust... "£350m a week for the NHS to finance private healthcare!" he trumpeted. "No more Johnny Foreigners stealing our croissants! No more money for terrorist refugees! Support the three multinational fishing companies we give our quotas to!" It was unicorns and rainbows all the way, but who cared, nobody believed it, it was just a game anyway. Really, just like being back at school.  
  
He posed, smirking and triumphant, for three thousand selfies.  
  
"Fuckin' eejit," said Scotland, deeply suspicious of that £350m. (And the entire Tory party.)  
  
"Arse weed," said Northern Island, all too familiar with sectarianism.  
  
"Oh, Boris," simpered Michael Gove. "You're so smart! The man the country deserves! And when you are King, shall I be Queen?"  
  
But Boris was too busy writing his column for the Daily Torygraph, and did not answer.   
  
"He's not good enough for you, darling," consoled Mrs Gove. (Sarah Vine. But for the purposes of this story, Mrs Gove.)  
  
Leave.eu and UKIP lied through their teeth, but no-one cared, because that funny little Farage, ranting, sold newspapers. Who gave a shit if the Poles down the road had their windows kicked in? That was nothing to do with Westminster. Not even worth a post on Facebook. No one in their right mind was going to vote Leave anyway.


	3. The Remain Campaign

"....er," said Jeremy Corbyn.  
  
"The lady's not for turning," said Teresa May, carefully blank.  
  
"What referendum?" said David, feeding another story about asylum seekers to the Daily Mail as he planned more higher-rate tax cuts.  
  
"Well," smiled Nicola Sturgeon. "Tactical voting, guys? SNP, let's get going. I love the smell of a referendum in the morning!"  
  
"Quick!" whispered the Parliamentary Labour Party. "What's our secret code?"  
  
Jo Cox was murdered. For one brief moment, people were valued above politics. It didn't last.


	4. The Result

'Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,' thought Boris. 'I've really screwed it up this time.' (It'd be fine, though, Daddy would pay.)  
  
"Fuck you," muttered David 'not a quitter', washing his hands of the whole affair and thinking of his Panamanian bank account - no UK investments there. "I'm not cleaning up this shit."  
  
"Darling," Mrs Gove smiled. "Just check this draft manifesto, while I try on my new crown. Oh, and the Camerons cancelled."  
  
"Begin Operation Rabid Shark!" cried the Parliamentary Labour Party. "Mobilise!" It'd be just like the October Revolution. There'd be blood on the steps of Parliament. Maybe that was the wrong analogy - they were wearing suits, after all, and nobody read Trotsky these days. "Now is our moment! Forward in unity!" they declaimed, driving a knife into the heart of the party. "One, Great and Free!"  
  
"I've got something to say!" said the Lib-Dems. (Editor's note  - sorry, I can't remember who any of them are or what they've got to say.)  
  
"Okay," said Nicola, rolling up her sleeves. "Let's get started. Plan A, plan B, plan C - guys, we've practiced this. Remember, dignity, democracy and freedom for Scotland, work those phones, quash those pesky articles about the economy, and get me a plane ticket to Brussels!" 


	5. The Tory Party Implodes

"Whatevs," David said.  
  
Teresa smiled. On her iPad were -   
  
Fifteen hundred e-mails sent by Mrs Gove to her husband, sixty percent of then unread, thirty percent of them lost down the back of the sofa, seven percent of them answered, and three percent responded to by the two-word reply: "Yes, dear".  
  
Sixty-seven blue-prints for new and excruciatingly beautiful designs for devices to extract the truth from recalcitrant unbelievers.  
  
Sixteen photographs of newspaper editors in various degrees of adultery, twenty-seven of Boris failing to zip up his pants, and a single nostalgic and sentimental image of the chopping block at the Tower of London.  
  
And one draft for her acceptance speech. "Where there is discord, may we bring harmony..."   
  
You can't go wrong with the classics.  
  
"Boris?" said Michael.   
  
"Boris?"  
  
"Boris, don't dump me!"  
  
"Darling, you're so much better than this. Let me make some calls..."  
  
Boris fell on his stage sword in gouts of stage blood. "Immigration is great!" he said (although he said the exact opposite a week ago) "We must stay in the free market!" (although he said the exact opposite a week ago) "We'll be at the front of the queue for negotiations with America!" (which is the exact opposite of Obama's comment.)  
  
And then:  
  
"I fucked up! I fucked up so much! And now I'm going to find a dark closet to hide until until someone else sorts it out, and then I'll come back and rescue the party!" (Once the market had recovered. Daddy's investments tanked.)  
  
"OMG," said the media.   
  
Boris posed for two thousand selfies, not smiling.  
  
"Go on, darling," murmured Mrs Gove. "Just like we practiced."  
  
"I have to do as my conscience dictates!" squeaked Michael. "I am the man for the job!"  
  
"Is that your expert opinion?" muttered his self-destructive urges.  
  
"I have so many ideas!" he added. "I'll reunite the country! I'll cut spending on the NHS, but no-one will notice! I'll re-engage with voters! Every working man will have a new dress by the year 2020! And a bible! And then you'll like me!"  
  
"Fantastic job, darling," said Mrs Gove. "The Johnsons cancelled."


	6. The Labour Party Implodes

"...er," said Jeremy. "Unity! I am the man for the people! Do as I say!"  
  
"I can't," said half the Parliamentary Labour Party. "I'm at Glastonbury."  
  
"Er, no," said the rest of the Parliamentary Labour Party. "Fuck this socialist shit, we want Blair back."  
  
"People in e-mails support me!" said Jeremy.   
  
"Nope," said the Parliamentary Labour Party, as people no-one had ever heard of resigned from jobs no-one knew existed in a carefully orchestrated media friendly progression, complete with sound bite tweets. "Our careers are more important than your principles."  
  
"WTF?" said the Labour Party, the Unions, and the gleeful media, as Labour's best chance of winning an election so far this century went up in flames.  
  
Jeremy, furious, planted his flag on six inches of concrete. It wobbled. "A whole new face for Labour," he promised, employing three teenagers and his aunt as the new shadow cabinet. "Er," he said, whispering. "None of you are Jewish, are you...?"  
  
"Resign!" Angela told him, ignoring two thousand letters, e-mails and tweets from Labour party members. "For the good of the country!"   
  
"What do you mean?" she muttered to her constituency. "Forget Brexit! This is my chance to be Prime Minister!"  
  
Tom Watson twirled his moustache. "Of course the party supports you!" he told Jeremy. "Of course the party supports you!" he whispered to Angela.   
  
Meanwhile, he was writing his leadership manifesto. Now was his moment for power! (Ed's note: surmise.)


	7. Meanwhile, back in the UK

Everyone said, "Fuck."  
  
Followed by 52% of the country saying, in effect:  
  
"Go home!" (Although of course the Leave campaign wasn't about immigration, no siree, and the pressure on housing and jobs was nothing to do with government policy, and it's not as if racism and xenophobia had just won a country-wide mandate, no, no, not at all, that's not what Leave meant. And let me sell you a bridge.)  
  
And the sound of one and a half million tax-paying, house-buying, UK-loving European NUS hospital consultants, baristas, engineers, lecturers, plumbers and students packing their bags.  
  
And the sound of one and a half million suddenly impoverished pensioners coming back from Europe.  
  
(Although, to be fair, a few Australians were suddenly hopeful they'd get a visa.)  
  
And the other 48% saying:  
  
"Fuck, we're screwed," all over again,  
  
And -  
  
"What do you mean, you didn't vote to doctrine!" (Communist Party. All three of them were considering schism.)  
  
And -  
  
"Use my postcode, sign this petition!" As four million people signed a petition for a second referendum, but half of them lived in the Vatican.  
  
And -  
  
"Please, sir, what about my EU grants?" That was Cornwall, creeping up to David, big, sea-blue eyes wide and wet, "Please, sir, can I have some..."  she swallowed. "Anything?"  
  
David back-handed her absently, never taking his eyes off the game. "No," he said.  
  
Which pretty much put the knife into Wales and the North West and the North East and the environment and the Human Rights Act and the European Commission on Human Rights and....  
  
And -  
  
"What about my borders?" (Northern Ireland. Ed: I don't think anyone's tried answering that one.)  
  
Although -  
  
"Actually, considering the EU as an axis of capitalist oppression, I'd like to see the whole edifice destroyed." (Ed's financial adviser, making a very good point, although a slightly concerning one given his custodianship of her rapidly depreciating minor capitalist gains)  
  
And -  
  
"If you don't stop being such bloody idiots, I'll chop off your heads." (The Queen. Ed's note - wistful paraphrase. Opinions may vary on the relevance of the original comment to the real world.)  
  
Although most of the UK was suddenly wondering if, after years of muttering "London's a different country", it actually would be.  Unfortunately, the only sane politician in the entire UK was going with it. Sadiq Khan, ♥.


	8. While in Europe

“No, of course we can’t speak to Scotland!” the president of the EU said, signing off the menu for his secret meeting with that nice young lady from Edinburgh. Veal again.   
  
“No single market without free movement!” declaimed France, Germany, Spain, and probably lots of other people too. “Although maybe there’s room to negotiate,” they muttered. “If you pay us.”  
  
“What a horrible, nasty little man!” they added, watching Nigel’s speech in the European Parliament. “Of, course, the right wing in our country is so much more civilised.”   
  
“What a shame,” Paris cooed to London. “We’ll always be friends. Oh, those rumours about the banks? _C’est la vie_.”  
  
But mostly, the EU was still sniggering about the English football team losing to Iceland.


	9. The End

Which is, pretty much, par for the course.


End file.
